The Instructor
by Tempest Autum
Summary: Harry is an auror, stuck at desk duty because of one unfortunate failed physical exam. Isn't it just his luck the auror department has found a new employee in none other than Draco Malfoy. Who, by the way, is sexy of the scale and knows entirely too much about being physical for Harry to ignore.


**Hello, readers! Just a warning, this will be slash. I do like to put in more romance then smut, but beware, sex and the sort will pass the revenue. Don't like, don't read.**

**Have fun x**

**Chapter one **

**Just a tad  
**

"Down dog"

Harry crawled in yet another position. Sneaking a peak to look at the rest of the class, he found himself being the odd one out. Apparently, 'down dog' entailed some kind of bow with arms and legs spread out on the ground.

"Merlin, Potter, didn't you hear me say _down dog_?"

Harry turned his head to the other side and saw his instructor rubbing his temples with perfectly manicured hands, as if Harry caused him some sort of headache.

"I thought this was down dog." Harry bit back, god how he hated this class!

"No, you're just standing on all fours, pretending to be a dog, instead of executing one of the basic poses of yoga." His instructor lectured. "One that we covered days ago, Potter."

Harry huffed, and scrambled into the position the rest of the aurors already had taken on. Why did they need to take these classes again?

Oh right, according to Mr. Dowels, the examiner of the monthly physical test, the whole auror department apparently lacked grace and flexibility. This was a familiar complain of Mr. Dowels, but never had their boss actually done something about it. Flexibility didn't rank that high on the priority list of Emmanuelle L'Ombre, head of the auror department.

Though that had changed two months ago, when Dowels had felt the need to fail the entire department, "because none of them could touch the tip of their nose with their feet."

And as long as the physical test wasn't passed, the aurors couldn't be in the field. Legally wise, that is.

In theory that would mean that the whole bulk of law enforcement was stuck at desk duty, but the Wizangamot had seen the downside of such a strict apply of the rule, that they allowed a small part of the corps to do their daily routines. With restrictions of course, until the department had met the standards of the physical exam.

Hence the current mandatory yoga class. Each Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday morning from 9 to 11, and every 3 weeks Monday morning from 6 to 12 as well.

The whining sound of Harry's yoga instructor cut through Harry's thoughts.

"Dear Morgana, Potter, could you be any more graceless?" the man sighted in exasperation, though Harry had become so used to the annoyed tone his yoga teacher always addressed him with, he barely noticed it anymore.

"Malfoy, I'm trying here," Harry exclaimed. "What am I doing wrong _this_ time?"

The sound of soft steps halted closely next to Harry's ear. Though he didn't look up, but kept his gaze on his shins, as he recalled was necessary while doing the yoga pose.

Harry thought he was preforming a nearly perfect down dog, Malfoy be damned with is never-ending criticism.

"What you are doing wrong, you ask, Potter?" Malfoy drawled out lazily and Harry found it unfair that the git sounded way to sexy while degrading him in front of everyone once again.

"Well, for starters, you're holding up the rest of your class. Surely, you're colleagues aren't that thrilled with you at the moment; they've been holding up the down dog for at least 2 minutes now," Malfoy lectured. "So really, don't hurry and take your time to find your stance."

Harry frowned lightly, he hadn't taken that long, right? He sneaked a glance to his right and saw the beet red head of his partner Victor.

"Secondly, you're supposed to keep your eyes on your shinbones, and not look at your neighbors," Malfoy chided, as if he was teaching a tree year old. "No peeking at others, Potter. We've been over this a dozen times"

"I was looking at my shins!" Harry protested.

"Then surely, you didn't noticed the purple shade you're partners complexion has taken on? It's quite interesting to see, really. I wonder how much time it will take before someone passes out, the blood filling their heads more and more, while we wait for you to finish your sluggish performance."

Harry frowned again. He was not going to let Malfoy get to him, with his jibes and criticism.

...Though Victor had looked like he had stuffed a liter more blood in his head than usual.

Had he really taken so long to figure out down dog, or whatever ridiculous pose they're supposed to do?

His resolved faltered, he couldn't keep his partner hanging, quite literally.

"Then, could you help me?" Harry murmured.

No answer came.

"Malfoy?" Harry prompted, maybe he hadn't heard.

"Ask nicely."

"Oh, Merlin's tit, are you serious?!" Harry shoved himself in a kneeling position, looking incredulously up to the blond git.

"Yes, Potter, seriously. And quickly now, Krum's face has taken on a worrying shade of aubergine," Malfoy responded, while actually smiling.

"All right, all right!" Harry hurried and looked back to the ground.

He cleared his throat once. "Could you help me with the down dog... _please_?"

Harry didn't get a verbal response, but a physical. No sooner than the words left his mouth he was being manhandled on the light blue yoga mat, into a very compromising position.

Malfoy had spread Harry's arms in front of his body, and then hauled his legs straight backwards. His hips where lifted up in the air, and Harry could do little more than keep his blushing face directed to the floor.

"Weight on your palms," Malfoy softly exhaled.

Harry remembered this pose now, he had blushed as bad the first time they went through this routine. It was The Sex-pose.

At least, that was what Harry called it in his head.

"Heels to the ground now." The instruction practically vibrated in his left ear.

He was literally with his face down and arse up with Malfoy standing behind him, and no matter how many times Malfoy called it 'down dog', for Harry it stayed The Sex-pose.

To make it worse, Malfoy now proceeded to squat behind him and push his ankles further apart with his hands, glided up his calf and upper legs with firm strokes.

"Make your legs long and stern, but lose the tension," Malfoy said low voiced. Harry struggled to keep his legs even and not show the tremble that shot through his spine.

Merlin, why did Malfoy need to sound that way, while his face was leveled with Harry's bum. It took all his willpower not to show how it was effecting him.

Malfoy swiftly stood up and Harry let out a relieved sigh.

That could have ended disastrous. Malfoy could have noticed the shiver that Harry couldn't repress, or heard the nearly silent intake of breath.

But, apparently Malfoy wasn't finished. A weight settled over Harry, and he could feel a hand press between his shoulder blades.

"Try to bow as low as possible, without putting too much pressure on your muscles." Malfoy said, and loosely bended over Harry to reach the middle area of his back.

"Don't clench your muscles, keep them stretched, but long and relaxed, see?" Oh god, Malfoy hands skimmed over some pressure points Harry didn't even knew he had.

Malfoy rubbed his sides passingly. "It isn't that hard now, is it?"

Harry managed a small nod of the head, while desperately chanting 'eyes on shins, eyes on shins, eyes on shins' to keep himself focused.

Fingers brushed the lining of his sweatpants, Harry's stomach clenched in appreciation- uh no, not appreciation. In protest, definitely in protest!

And then the body moved away from Harry's, taking the delicious rubbing and touching and stroking with it, and only a ghostly tingle remained.

"Well, now that even Potter has wrapped his mind around the down dog," Malfoy addressed the class "we can go forth with the cobra."

Harry let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding in, when at the same time a relieved groan came from his partner on his right.

Harry's eyes flitted over to Victor Krum and winced inwardly at the sight.

He should remember to tell Victor to never wear any purper clothes, the color really didn't do him justice.

Now, how did the cobra go again?

* * *

Harry and his partner where having their weekly Friday night drink at the Dancing Broom, Harry's favorite wizard gay bar in London. He already had two of his favorite cocktail, the Magic Wish, but now was sipping off a more safer choice, a cold Firewhiskey.

He and Victor sat in a lovely booth, his view was directed on the dance floor, seeing some early costumers challenging the rhythm on a pounding bass-beat in the flashing lights.

"You are in lov' with Draco Malfoy?" Victor broke the silence.

Harry's whiskey went up his nose, while he choked on the drink.

"No!" he squeaked. Wincing at the sound he couched an tried again. "No, no, I'm not. What? Why would you- I'm so not."

And then, just to be sure his colleague understood this vital fact, he firmly concluded, "Really not."

Victor looked at him with a concerned face and an unspoken question on his lips. But, being the patient friend he always was, he held whatever he was going to ask inside in favor of listening to Harry's firm denial.

"Why would you even think that?!" he outrageously called. Harry didn't even like Malfoy.

"He's not even good-looking, albino-iss and such," he added as an explanation. "He's not sexy at all."

He really is not.

Victor just nodded contemplative to his beer, like he hadn't just asked the most ridiculous question a man could ask.

"I don't think Malfoy is sexy, alright?"

He really, really wasn't. If fact, Harry thought he should voice it again.

"Like not at all. Truly ugly, that man."

His partner hummed in acknowledgement. Harry didn't think he actually realized what an incriminating question he had asked.

Why would anyone think he fancied Malfoy? It was not as if he gave the blond even a spare glance. Not even that one time, after yoga in the changing rooms.

Harry had not looked once. Sure he had noticed the toned lines on his lean figure, but who hadn't. Or the enticing paleness of his skin, Harry wondered what would it feel like? Like soft silk? Or would it be ice cold as some expensive material… like marmer, or ivory or pearls…

And certainly he hadn't strayed behind to have a glimpse of that perfect pert ass. One Harry wouldn't mind to-

-oh god, he must be so obvious! He should just confess to Victor, and be over with it.

"So, maybe I do a little." Harry confessed.

Victor gave him a long exaggerated look. "You luv 'im a little?"

"No! No, not love, just- eh- just like."

"You like 'im a little?" Victor looked perfectly disbelieving at him, but Harry thought they had finally reached the same conclusion.

"Yes, a little. Just a tad."

And surely it was only a passing thing, this liking-Malfoy-business. Like a fluke, it would sort itself eventually. He had to wait and sick it out, and maybe in the meantime distract himself with one of the good-looking young men that had entered the dance floor.

"Why did you ask?" Harry wondered out loud, going for an uncaring drawl, his gaze lazily following the movements of a shorthaired brunette. "About me liking Malfoy," he clarified.

"He's standing at the bar right now," Victor replied, a small smile betraying his amusement. "Thought you would want to know."

Harry prided himself on keeping his eyes firmly on his target and not looking over. He might like Malfoy a little bit, only his looks that is, but that didn't meant the blond git could take all his attention.

"He's wearing red leather," Victor supplied.

The whiplash that would surely follow tomorrow was definitely worth the sight that greeted Harry's eyes when he jerked his head towards the bar.

"Oh, bugger." Harry was doomed.

Malfoy looked stunning.

Somehow he and the light had come to a nice agreement to illuminate the room together. The red leather complimenting Malfoy's body didn't leave much to the imagination, legs long and slender, arse firm…

"Victor," Harry turned his head to his friend gravely.

Victor nodded his way his attention shifting between the dancefloor and Harry.

"I think I might be," Harry said.

Victor hand gestured he was still listening.

"You know," Harry continued, " in love. With Malfoy."

"Ah." Victor granted him the 'I already knew' nod.

"But not much," Harry felt he had to add. And he looked at the bar, where Malfoy ordered his own Magic Wish.

Their eyes met, and Harry received a scowl. The notion of him being there must be a very stinking one for Malfoy. Harry signed in resignation, and fixed his sight back on the dancing men on the floor.

Only a moment later he got shaken out of his trance by a smooth kick in the shins. Questionly he looked up to his Bulgarian friend, what-

"Evening Victor," the sharp voice of Malfoy cut of his question. Harry turned halfway in the boot to see Malfoy standing on the side behind Harry seat.

"What are you drinking Krum? Looks good" he tipped his glass to emphasize. And then, as an afterthought, "Potter"

Harry tried to give in a greeting himself, but Malfoy already moved on with a 'see ya' and a wink to Krum.

Victor gave him an apologetic shrug, as to say 'bummer mate', or more in a totally up-tight Victor-ish way 'I'm deeply sorry that your love-interest is blatantly flirting with me'.

Harry gave back a small smile, 'don't worry', and opted for gulping his Firewiskey in one go.

The sweet buzz it gave him directed him to the dance floor, where he soon forgot all about the blond in favor of getting to know a pretty brunette better.

**R&R **


End file.
